Medfet Extraordinaire

So I haven’t yet talked about Saturday. We went to Bordello of Decadence, a play space in LA. Parties are held in a big house on top of a long, sloping driveway that’s difficult to ascend in high heels. Last weekend I actually got smart and brought my platform mules in a bag. I hate tottering around all helpless when I’m supposed to be the one in charge.

A last-minute change of clothes had me dressed as a doctor, an eeeevil doctor, ready to do eeeevil things. BoD has a medical playroom with chairs, a massage table, and a large wooden desk. It was perfect. I rolled out a clean towel and arranged most of the toys in our medical bag including forceps, lube, a Wartenberg wheel, and the like. Some of the things I laid out just to mess with Mr. Tungsten’s mind. This wound up having a less than desirable effect.

Folks, those of you who think that when you meet the right person everything just flows, let me disabuse you of that notion. Heh, I said “disabuse” — that’s like the opposite of what a domme is supposed to to do.

But seriously, Fifty Shades readers: misunderstandings crop up all the time. You have to talk and talk and talk some more. Then you read his signals wrong or she’s on some other wavelength and boom, disaster. This might even happen more with us because, as I’ve said in the past, we overthink so much of the time.

One problem was that I’d led Mr. Tungsten to believe we were going to do some things he wasn’t comfortable doing in public. Even after I told him this wasn’t the case, he was still rattled. Then a fellow scenester walked into our semi-private space and asked if he could sit down and watch. I agreed without consulting my man. This was so disconcerting it put him right out of subspace and on the defensive side. Still, we handled it. I walked around to give him some space. When I came back he was chatting with none other than Natacha Merritt, author of Digital Diaries, and a male friend of hers. They were in jeans and t-shirts — very low-key. I hear Natacha has a new book out — time to investigate.

They passed on before long, leaving Mr. Tungsten feeling better. We sorted out our issues and decided we did want to play after all. What followed was a deliciously satisfying continuation of the role play we’ve been working on involving a new programmer at FemDomCorp, manufacturer of top-of-the-line sexbots. The previous session with HR had been done at home, in his office. At BoD we did the exam part of the interview — to see if he was fit for service.

It was a pleasure to feel Mr. Tungsten as hard as he’d ever been in a public place. We played with his shirt off, his pants on, and me fully clothed. My preference would have been to have him in his underwear, but mein Mann isn’t an exhibitionist like yours truly.

We started with a medical history. Then it was on to the exam table with vitals and palpations. I like palpating Mr. Tungsten. It’s hot.

Before long he was tied to a chair with me straddling him and my red PVC pencil-skirt unzipped up the back so I could wrap him in my fishnet thigh-highs. My lab coat hid most of what was uncovered from anyone’s view but his and our friend Azuquitar’s. She’d slipped in to silent cat-feet to watch the proceedings, looking scrumptious as ever in her retro skirt and stunning footwear.

Not long after we had to stop. I wasn’t hurting him much and he could have gone on, but the scene was getting incredibly heated and you can’t exactly have sex in a place like BoD. Besides, Azu had brought beer and was willing to share. So we stopped, caught up, and had a lovely time sipping brews and eventually watching Azu get sensuously and expertly spanked by a close friend of hers. All in all, a fantastic night.

Careful now:

This blog deals with mature themes including sexuality, BDSM, erotica, LGBT, the mating habits of aliens, and married people arguing about porn. If you are underage or think you might be offended by such material, please direct your attention elsewhere.

Interested?

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.